


Transfixed

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder and Sylar share an unexpected moment that will change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transfixed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cellshader's prompt: "When he came home"

_“Come take my pulse   
The pace is on a runaway train.   
Help. I'm alive   
My heart keeps beating like a hammer.”   
_ **-Metric, _Help I'm Alive_ **

 

All Mohinder wants is to go back to his old apartment, climb into his own bed and sleep, with the hopes of waking up from the nightmare that has claimed his life.

But that is not going to happen any time soon. Not with a covertly run government organization hell bent on rounding up and doing unknowable things to those humans who possess enhanced abilities that make them 'Special.' Mohinder's research put him at the center of the spider's web and life as he once knew it slipped further and further away.

He had been warned not to return to his apartment, but he felt the inexplicable pull to take one last look at it before retreating either by choice or force into the shadows. Besides, he needed a change of clothes if he was going to be on the run and asking Matt or Peter to spare him some money made him uneasy.

He should have swallowed his pride.

Instead, when he came home he walked into a surprise meet-and-greet with a handful of agents ransacking his belongings. His stunned silence made him the sight of wide eyed, jaw slacked, feet rooted to the spot just inside the opened door, innocence as Emile Danko (not so affectionately known as “The Hunter) emerged from the bedroom. He had caught Mohinder before and the look in his eyes said he was perfectly pleased to do it again.

“Dr. Suresh,” Danko droned in that tired tone of condescension and authority that sent shivers through the person being addressed. “How nice of you to return home.”

Instinctively Mohinder had jumped back, trying to swing the door shut in a half-hearted attempt to put a barricade between himself and his pursuers. The sound of his own scuffed and racing footsteps down the hall and then the staircase were almost drowned out by the cacophony of heavy boots behind him. Mohinder hurdled the stairs, barely maintaining his balance and speed. He hooked his hand around the curved banister as he swung himself off the steps and into the landing of the main hallway, racing for the front entrance.

What a sight for panicked eyes Peter was just outside the front door. Mohinder pulled up short to keep from slamming into him and getting them both caught. Bewildered at first, Peter then regarded him with a raised eyebrow that indicated awareness. He grabbed Mohinder's shoulder and spun him around so that they were both facing Danko and his team who were approaching more slowly along the hallway with their guns pointed, all ready to fire.

Danko raised his right arm, unfolding his palm in a motion to stop. “Think about it Petrelli. It doesn't have to be like this.”

“Yes it does,” Peter said flatly and whisked himself and Mohinder up into the air.

Which is how Mohinder had eventually come to find himself in the hotel room. Considering he was nearly caught due to one very simple yet bad choice, he did not argue when Peter told him to hunker down for the night and that tomorrow they would all meet to formulate a plan of resistance and subterfuge. He had wanted to ask more questions but Peter was rushing with other ideas in motion that he promised would “be revealed as soon as possible.” With that, he left Mohinder in a room booked under the inexplicable name Chris Beecher.

Anxious at first, Mohinder found it difficult to settle down. He decided on a long, hot shower and it wasn't until afterwards that he remembered that the clothes he had were the ones he had been wearing. He contemplated sleeping in the fluffy bathrobe provided by the hotel but figured he needed to be ready to run at the drop of a hat. Dark blue jeans and a button down paisley shirt that needed to see the inside of a washing machine would have to do.

So it is that Mohinder is standing in front of the half-steamed bathroom mirror leaning forward and resting his hands on the edges of the sink. His hair is a mess of damp curls that frame the side of his face and fall along the back of his neck. His shirt is only halfway buttoned up giving the impression that the wearer is too tired and distracted to bother with finishing the job. He rolls his head back and to the side, encouraging the tension that aches in his muscles to seep away, but the heavy weight remains. With a sigh he casts a brief look at his exhausted reflection (having the audacity to look irritated with him) then heads into the main room.

“Nice digs.”

The unexpected voice startles him and his heart instantly pounds out painfully in retaliation for being spooked. It does not help that the voice belongs to Sylar who is standing by the closed curtains, a dark (villainy, they name is) vision in black jeans, a fitted lightweight knit black sweater and black converse, not so short hair mussed in a different directions, inconspicuously gazing at the city from the side of the drape he has pulled back.

Mohinder swallows his panic. “Stalking is not nearly as flattering as you seem to think it is.”

Sylar muffles a laugh and redirects his attention to Mohinder. The leftover trace of the smile disappears and he casually moves forward, waving his right hand at the room. “Not quite under the radar. What exactly was Peter thinking, _Chris_?”

Mohinder knows better than to get into an argument with Sylar but he takes the bait out of habit anyway. “I imagine he figured that for one night Danko and his minions would not think to look for me here.” Mohinder steps away from Sylar to ensure a safe and flexible distance is maintained between them.

“Except I found you.” Sylar stops where he is and raises one eyebrow, clearly enjoying the game of verbal sparring they have begun to engage in.

Mohinder firmly replies, “Yes, but for your own purposes or under his orders?”

There have been rumours that Danko has secretly been working with Sylar as his super powered ace in the hole to bring in (collect, imprison, kill) Specials. It is well known that Sylar can wield the equivalent force of an assault team. If an agreement exists the terms are only known by them, but Mohinder is too struck by the way Sylar's confident expression momentarily falls and he realizes there is some truth to the gossip.

Mohinder wrinkles his nose in disgust. “It's true then? Are you really so narcissistic that you would help destroy anyone else remotely like you? That you would sell your soul for your own unrivalled perfection?”

Sylar purses his lips and looks towards the curtains then back to Mohinder and tilts his head to the side. “Save the fake surprise for someone who doesn't know you. Have I really disappointed you by acting exactly as I always have?”

“Yes.” Mohinder folds his arms across his chest and angles his head back to appear as defiant and unmoved as he can muster.

“Imagine how I feel,” Sylar snaps. “After all this time you're still quick with your judgments while simultaneously ignoring your own questionable actions.”

Mohinder fights back a grimace. For a moment he wishes he still possessed super strength, the one remaining side effect of the power creating serum he developed, but it was somehow lost when Danko (in cahoots with Nathan) took him prisoner the second time around. Whatever experiments they performed on him, his extra human strength was zapped. It would have been a fantastic discovery (to create _and_ remove abilities) had it not come at the worst possible time.

Seeing Sylar's smug expression Mohinder wishes he could send him hurling through the window, crashing to the street below. Then again the action would only prove Sylar's point (as well as stun him, not kill him), which is hardly an acceptable price on Mohinder's plate.

“I should think I'm already paying for my mistakes and transgressions,” Mohinder says instead.

“Not nearly enough.” Sylar thrusts his hands into his pant pockets and takes a small step forward.

“Coming from you I'm hardly offended by that sentiment.” Mohinder shakes his head. “What exactly are you doing here? Wanting to dish out my punishment yourself? Show me how I'll always be under your thumb?”

Sylar holds his unblinking gaze, stretching a few seconds into an uncomfortable standoff. “Peter's certainly keeping his eye on you.”

Mohinder blinks in confusion at the unexpected redirect. Sylar looks to the floor and takes a few random steps towards the window then backtracks to the side of the bed. His brow is lined in deep thought and Mohinder thinks he sees a small pout in the outward push of his lips.

“What does Peter have to do--,”

“It's a good thing you made it out the front door since the only thing he can do right now is fly.”

Mohinder huffs his irritation at the dig against his friend who, though he once could handle an array of powers all at once like Sylar, is now limited to one at a time. “Considering who you're working with, that you're probably here to break me in some way so that Danko can take me down again, I'll take my chances with Peter.”

“Of course the Boy Scout always gets it right,” Sylar mutters, briefly flicking his gaze over to the bed before setting darkening eyes on Mohinder. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“Yes I think we've accomplished that enemy bit,” Mohinder begins to say with an edge of annoyed mockery in his tone.

Sylar moves closer and in the blink of an eye appears larger and more imposing. He does not wait for Mohinder to finish. “Maybe I'm working with Danko as a way of an offensive defense, protectionism.”

Mohinder wrinkles his forehead and thinks over those words. He braces his arms tighter against his chest then drops them nervously at his side. “You expect me to believe you've infiltrated Danko's group to help us?”

“No,” is Sylar's definitive response.

“Then what? Me?” Mohinder counters two seconds before the realization dawns on him, confirmation found in the minute tilt of Sylar's head. “_Me_? No…certainly not for…”

“I've spared you before,” Sylar points out.

“Spared, not saved,” Mohinder clarifies.

“Semantics.” Sylar raises his voice and when Mohinder looks at him incredulously he continues. “Sparing your life was an act of saving it. If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead.”

“Unless you prefer the long term approach to torture me,” Mohinder says in a confused attempt to stay his ground while refusing to acknowledge the extent of what Sylar is saying. Why should Sylar hold him to a different standard than everyone else? And, if it is true, what would be gained by confessing it now?

“Should I be honoured by this unsolicited declaration?”

“How about being grateful?” Sylar's jaw is tense and his words harshly clip between this tongue and teeth.

Mohinder moves into Sylar's space and glares up at him. “You're delusional. I've managed to stop you before. Maybe _you_ should be grateful.”

It is a thoughtless and risky show of defiance. Mohinder should not succumb to such a deliberate challenge but he has never been able to back down, especially when the odds are stacked very much against him. Sylar pushing his buttons, manipulatively stepping around him, always invokes a fiery response. Whether it stems from their tumultuous beginning or the deeper coursing feelings, uncertain but undoubtedly present, that resurfaces whenever they cross paths, Mohinder always finds himself right in the here and now, ever present with Sylar.

Mohinder must have the same effect on Sylar because he is unexpectedly flung back by a force he has not felt since Sylar first leveled him with the consequences of not pulling the trigger soon enough. Mohinder slams into the wall and struggles to move his limbs, but he is frustratingly stuck to the wall. His breathing is reduced to shallow gasps as the pressure against his chest increases.

Sylar smirks and steps back with fluidity in his smooth motion as if admiring his handiwork. “Tread carefully or I'll have to make an example out of you.”

Mohinder fights to spit out his strained response. “Go…ahead…You still n…need...your powers…to…fight me.”

Sylar's expression shifts from amusement to annoyance. Again he clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes into inquisitive daggers. “Envious of everything I still have?”

“Hardly.”

“Liar.”

“Prove it.”

The excruciating invisible hold is inexplicably removed and Mohinder falls forward. There is little time for him to regain his composure, however. There is no chance to breathe again and move of his own volition. As fast as the powered hold is gone Mohinder is slammed back against the wall, but this time Sylar uses his own momentum and normal strength. With a natural advantage of surprise, leverage, he has Mohinder by the shoulders then lets go but stays where he is, one step away from pressing their bodies together.

Mohinder must stand up straight or risk falling into Sylar who places the palm of his left hand against the wall just over Mohinder's right shoulder and leans closer, his breath hitting across the side of Mohinder's face.

“Is this what you had in mind?” Sylar whispers.

His voice is demanding. It taunts Mohinder, daring him to resist and deny what is now pulsing between them. There are a lot of things Mohinder should do. He should forcefully shove Sylar back, hard enough to knock him off his feet and to the floor. He should slam his head forward into Sylar's face, breaking his nose or splitting his lip and spilling blood between them. He could even jerk his right leg up and knee Sylar in the groin, rendering him a simpering mess of stunned pain. Of all the options Mohinder has, the one he ends up choosing is the last he would have previously considered.

“Am I supposed to be petrified?” he seethes flatly, staring into Sylar's blackened eyes.

“That depends,” Sylar says in a slightly exaggerated manner of speaking that draws attention to his tongue between his lips while he unfurls the words.

On cue Mohinder looks to his mouth and Sylar murmurs a small smile. Mohinder feels Sylar shift on his feet, their gaze back on one another, then there is the curious yet very real feeling of Sylar's right hand hovering down his left arm, raising his hairs in an electric charge.

Slowly Sylar guides his hand down past Mohinder's fingers and across the waist of his jeans. Mohinder keeps his breathing steady but the moment Sylar's hand grazes the front of his pants he clenches his teeth. He would love to rip the teasing half smile off of Sylar's face but he is just as frozen by the implication of what is to come. And more importantly, what he is willing to let happen.

There has always been something between them, but with battle lines drawn as they were those runaway thoughts were never consciously allowed to see the light of day. A dream here or there may have broken free of subconscious restraints but now both worlds are melding together rapidly at a heightened degree that has tossed cautionary thought by the wayside. Mohinder is riveted between wanting to (_not so_?) adamantly refuse this and otherwise unabashed curiosity, the evidence of which is becoming more obvious. Sylar palms his half hard erection, exerting the barest increase of pressure.

Mohinder's breath catches in his throat but he manages to sternly say, “Depends on what? Me? Are you looking for me to lead?”

Sylar inches forward, expertly maintaining eye contact in a show of determination and begins to slowly rub Mohinder through his jeans. Mohinder pushes himself further against the wall, instinctively trying to put space between them but there is nowhere to go.

“I'm looking for you to follow,” Sylar rumbles in a low voice, working his hand at a steady pace. “To at least admit…”

Mohinder's head is swimming in a haze and making sense of Sylar's words while his body is thrumming like every nerve end is exposed and on fire is an impossible situation. He is thankful for Sylar standing close in his space as it provides a counter balance to his own legs buckling. Each time he starts to sway forward and down his knees hit Sylar's legs and jolt him back into place. He fists his hands at his side, pushing them against the wall behind him, stopping himself from punching Sylar or worse, pulling him closer. Against his upper right thigh he feels Sylar's own arousal. Mohinder is grateful that at least he is not the only one having a meltdown in this long awaited release.

“Admit what?” Mohinder closes his eyes as pleasure begins to build through his body, all the more overwhelmed by the sensory overload that the friction of his jeans between his hardening cock and Sylar's mindful stimulations induces. Quickly he opens his eyes to convey (even if it is false by now) resistance.

“That _this_,” Sylar rubs him harder and faster, “isn't happening to you.”

Mohinder's breathing is shallow and the quick huffs of air he takes echo loudly between them. “What?” he manages to utter.

“You're right here.”

Without warning Sylar removes his hand from the bunched up front of Mohinder's jeans and deftly undoes the top button, pulling down the zipper. He spits in his hand and reaches down Mohinder's boxer briefs, wrapping his hardened length in a tight, wet fist. Mohinder gasps in surprise and pounds his fists at his side against the wall.

The strokes are slow and long at first; experimental in the way they move along his entire length. Mohinder cannot help the muffled whimper that escapes his lips and the lustful admission is all the encouragement Sylar needs to quicken the pace. His strokes become short and much faster and Mohinder feels his straining cock pulse and throb without apology as he rushes to the edge.

“Do you think about this when you're with Peter?” Sylar's whisper is assured and aggressive. “No. You only do this with me.”

Another few strokes with a twist of Sylar’s wrist at the end and Mohinder grits his teeth, coming hard with his entire body shaking, skin afire. He reaches his left hand up to Sylar's neck and cups it, digging his nails into the skin. For a moment something flickers in Sylar's eyes but Mohinder is unsure of what it is--Confusion? Worry? Fright? Uncensored want?

Aftershocks crash through Mohinder's body and are coupled with Sylar grabbing him by the waist with both hands and pushing between his legs, grinding against him. Sylar's erection, though restrained by his jeans, is hard against Mohinder's, now painfully sensitive to any and all ministrations. Sylar's thrusts are strong enough to lift Mohinder's bare feet off the ground and he hooks them loosely around Sylar's calves. The grip Mohinder has on his neck is powerful and their matching grunts are loud and undignified; the gaze between them is merciless.

Two more rough pushes bring Sylar over the peak with a guttural groan. He unexpectedly captures Mohinder's lips with a kiss that instantly goes deep, just enough for a shared taste of one another, before it is over. When Sylar pulls away he buries his face in the crook of Mohinder's neck, lightly sucking at the salty skin then nuzzling his nose against him.

The comedown is a rush of exhaustion, exhilaration and shock. Mohinder steadies himself by taking deep, laboured breaths, and Sylar, pressed against him, follows suit. Mohinder releases the tight grip he has on Sylar and without letting go lingers his hand on his neck, sensing the quickened pulse below searching fingertips. Mohinder swallows a gulp of air and slowly raises his right hand from its position pressed against the wall to the grip Sylar has on his waist, gently wrapping his fingers around Sylar’s wrist.

Mohinder rolls his head back and stares up at the ceiling, then to the far wall, the lamps on the nightstands, and the bed, all the while undulating in the spill of Sylar's hot breath against his neck and the light sheen that coats both their skin. Sylar smells like absolute sex to him. Sex and--

Sylar silently steps back and lowers Mohinder to the floor. Mohinder rests his hands at his side and watches Sylar with his head bowed and face flushed pink look upwards at him. There is no ridicule or fight between them. Everything is altered--nervous, unclear, _finally realized_. Sylar flexes the fingers of his dirtied right hand as if considering where to wipe it, his own pants and sweater now stained. A part of Mohinder expects him to grab the hem of his shirt and use it as a towel, not caring that they are the only clothes that Mohinder has right now; and taking into consideration they are already a soiled reminder of what has transpired.

Surprisingly Sylar goes to the bathroom and runs the water in the sink. Still against the wall, Mohinder listens to Sylar wash his hands (and presumably wipe down his clothes), and tucks himself back into his jeans, his shirt now stuck to his back with sweat. He is already a mess and there is little point in demanding cleanliness now as the order of the day. So much for the shower.

Sylar leaves the bathroom and pauses next to Mohinder. His face appears damp from splashing water on it and ineffectively patting it dry. Neither says anything although there are a torrent of words and conflicting emotions coursing through Mohinder that he imagines are overwhelming Sylar as well given Sylar's present awkwardness. Mohinder watches him look over his shoulder at the room then back to him.

Without a word Sylar turns and walks to the front door, only hesitating once he is there. He gazes at Mohinder and with very guarded emotion says, “I'm telling Danko you're heading towards Texas. It should give you time to make a decent dent north.”

‘Thank you’ sticks at the back of Mohinder's throat. It seems a strange thing to say to Sylar and the timing of it is jarring to say the least. Mohinder nods at him and replies with a simple, “Okay.”

Sylar nods and leaves, with the click of the door behind him finally breaking the tension that stifles the room. Mohinder walks over to the bed and sits at the end, resting his hands on his knees first then hunches forward and cradles his head in his hands.

He wonders what may have changed and everything that cannot possibly be the same from this point on. It is one thing for the deep-rooted wants and unspoken desires to remain buried, it is quite another for them to be exposed so blatantly. Sylar was right that Mohinder was just as culpable in what happened. There is no pointing the finger here. But what it all means remains unanswered.

Mohinder sighs and lies back on the bed, resting his hands on his stomach. He tries to shut his brain off but the second he unconsciously drifts his hands down to his jeans Sylar's face flashes before him. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest and a flush of heat flares across his face.

_This is the beginning of the rest of my life. _

It is going to be a bumpy ride.


End file.
